So everything lets us down, including curiosity and honesty and what we love best. Yes, said the voice, but cheer up, it's fun in the end. Roberto Bolano More Quotes by Roberto Bolano More Quotes From Roberto Bolano I'm an educated man, the prisons I know are subtle ones. Roberto Bolano subtle prison men I’m seventeen years old, my name is Juan García Madero, and I’m in my first semester of law school. I wanted to study literature, not law, but my uncle insisted, and in the end I gave in. I’m an orphan, and someday I’ll be a lawyer. That’s what I told my aunt and uncle, and then I shut myself in my room and cried all night. Roberto Bolano aunt uncles school They could read him, they could study him, they could pick him apart, but they couldn't laugh or be sad with him. Roberto Bolano picks study laughing If life is misery, why do we endure it? Roberto Bolano endure misery life-is Every book in the world is out there waiting to be read by me. Roberto Bolano waiting book world I decided to tell the truth even if it meant being pointed at. Roberto Bolano decided telling-the-truth ifs It's strange how things happen, Mauricio Silva, known as the Eye, always tried to escape from violence even at the risk of being considered a coward, but the violence, the real violence, can't be escaped, at least not by us, born in Latin America in the 1950s, those of us who were around twenty years old when Salvador Allende died. Roberto Bolano eye real latin The pain, or the memory of pain, that here was literally sucked away by something nameless until only a void was left. The knowledge that this question was possible: pain that turns finally into emptiness. The knowledge that the same equation applied to everything, more or less. Roberto Bolano void pain memories When you die of sorrow it's as if you've broken all the bones in your body, bruised yourself all over, cracked your skull. That's sorrow. Roberto Bolano skulls grief broken Death, in the Eastern tradition, was only a passage. What wasn't clear ... was toward what place, what reality, that passage led. Roberto Bolano clear tradition reality I'd obviously never heard of the group, but my ignorance in literary matters is to blame for that (every book in the world is out there waiting to be read by me). Roberto Bolano ignorance waiting book Poetry and prison have always been neighbors. Roberto Bolano neighbor prison …I realized my happiness was artificial. I felt happy because I saw the others were happy and because I knew I should feel happy, but I wasn't really happy. Roberto Bolano saws should feels In some lost fold of the past, we wanted to be lions and we're no more than castrated cats Roberto Bolano lions cat past There is a time for reciting poems and a time for fists. Roberto Bolano reciting fists struggle Of what is lost, irretrievably lost, all I wish to recover is the daily availability of my writing, lines capable of grasping me by the hair and lifting me up when I'm at the end of my strength. (Significant, said the foreigner.) Odes to the human and the divine. Let my writing be like the verses of by Leopardi that Daniel Biga recited on a Nordic bridge to gird himself with courage. Roberto Bolano bridges hair writing That's a pretty story,' said Afanasievna as she let go of Ansky's genitals. 'A pity I'm too old and have seen to much to believe it.' It has nothing to do with belief,' said Ansky, 'it has to do with understanding, and then changing. Roberto Bolano understanding letting-go believe Only in chaos are we conceivable. Roberto Bolano chaos The diseased, anyway, are more interesting than the healthy. The words of the diseased, even those who can manage only a murmur, carry more weight than those of the healthy. Then, too, all healthy people will in the future know disease. That sense of time, ah, the diseased man’s sense of time, what treasure hidden in a desert cave. Then, too the diseased truly bite, whereas the healthy pretend to bite but really only snap at the air. Then, too, then, too, then, too. Roberto Bolano air men people For a moment the two of them looked at each other, wordless, as if they were asleep and their dreams had converged on common ground, a place where sound was alien. Roberto Bolano sound dream two
